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to God in tender upright prayer, have felt the same "LIGHTSOMENESS AT HEART,' ," which he speaks of as a visitation from God," a call to the "HONOURS of a PIOUS LIFE." And where is the wonder of all this? Is man, for whom God created, and has so long sustained these heavens and this earth, is man of so little value, that his Maker will not visit him with smiles of approbation for doing what will exalt him to the great end of all, 1. e. temporal and eternal happiness? Besides, is not every man and woman on earth daily receiving visitations from God, and calls to the honours of a pious life? What is every transport which the soul feels on obtaining the victory over lust, but a visitation from God? What is every secret blush of shame, or palpitation of heart from guilt, but a visitation from God, and a strong call to a good life? After this extraordinary affair at Chigwell, we hear nothing of young William worth relating, until his fifteenth year, when we meet him again at Oxford college. From a very important occurrence there, we have good reason to conclude that if he had not doubled his talents, (his religious impressions) at Chigwell, he had not buried them in the earth. Hearing that a strange sort of preacher, by some called a Quaker, was about to preach in Oxford, William thought he would go and hear him. The appearance of the preacher, who had neither reverend, nor right-reverend tacked to his name, but simple Thomas Loe, excited his surprise. He had been accustomed, both in the London and Oxford churches, to see divinity dressed up in great state of velvet cushions and embroidered pulpit cloths, and its ministers pompously habited in rich gowns and cassocks of silk and crape, with surplices and sashes of many a various hue and emblem. Guess then what he must have felt, when, at the rising of Thomas Loe to speak, he beheld a plain, fleshy, round-faced man, in a broad-brimmed hat and drab coat of the humblest cloth and cut, and a close snug neckcloth, all shining

clean and neat. Nor was he less surprised at friend Loe's preaching, which struck him as entirely different from that of all the London and Oxford preachers he had ever heard. These latter were, all of them, GREAT SCHOLARS; and for fear their hearers should forget this, they kept them constantly on the stare at their high flown language. And to complete their delirium of wonder, they would every now and then throw them a scrap of Latin or Greek, selected with ostentation and most pompously pronounced. But, far on the contrary, soon as friend Loe had got up and taken the beaver from his head, he began to address his hearers in the simple and affectionate manner that a father would use with his children whom he knew to be disorderly and unhappy. We regret that we cannot set before our readers an exact copy of the famous sermon that first set the great William Penn to seek eternal life. But it was the aim of the orator to affect his hearers with a pungent sense of the miseries of man in this life, while separate from God by sin; also that "joy unspeakable," which springs up in his soul from "repentance and faith working by love." The looks and tones of friend Loe, while reasoning on this high subject, must have been of the highest style of sacred eloquence. Flowing from a fountain of the strongest light and love in his own soul, they penetrated the soul of young William Penn, and excited his deepest aspirations after a happiness which he heard so feelingly described, but which he did not know how to obtain. After bearing this burden for three days, he went to the principal of the college, who, according to the polite language of the day, was a LEARNED DIVINE, and told him his uneasiness. The principal inquired the cause; and, on learning that he had been at a "quaker sermon," he laughed all his feelings to scorn, as mere fanaticism and nonsense, and advised him to "keep to the good old church, hear sermons, and take the sacrament, and all would soon be well again." William

went to church-as indeed he ever had done-but he found not there the comfort which his soul longed after. Cold read prayers; cold read sermons; noisy organs, with crowds of gay ones and great, professing to worship God, but evidently idolizing themselves and one another.

Oh how illy did such vanities suit the seriousness of a mind like his ! No wonder that he turned from them disgusted, and went away as restless and unsatisfied as he came.

inform us how long he Probably not long. He salvation of his offend

WILLIAM PENN does not continued under this cloud. who asks nothing but the ing children, is not hard to be intreated when he sees the contrite heart, and honest wish, for the blessedness of reconciliation with their heavenly father. O, would mourners but remember that "GOD IS LOVE," and that "there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth," they would not mope and mourn as many do, yea, and for great part of their lives. Our Saviour has given us the true pattern in the case of the prodigal son. There does not appear to have been much time lost betwixt the conviction and conversion of

that young man. "Soon as he came to himself," for you see that while going on in sin, he is represented as one quite out of his head,-"soon as he came to himself," and found at what a mad rate he had been driving on what a princely fortune he had squandered-and into what a woful condition he had brought himself and also remembered what a wealthy and loving father he still had left him, he instantly resolved to face about and pack off home again. The moment

he took up this resolution, the blessed work was all but done. For, "while he was yet a great way off his father saw him; and had compassion on him, and ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him." The young man began to make a speech, but the father stopped him short. He saw that his poor self-ruined child was a penitent. And that was all he wanted. Besides, true love "will have mercy and not sacrifice." his son is naked and cold, and hungry and wretched. This is no time, the father thinks, to hear fine speeches. With all the vehemence of parental love yearning over his own flesh and blood a suffering, he cries aloud to the servants, "bring hither the best robe and put it upon him! and kill the fatted calf!" O how does the divine goodness break forth in this language! not simply the robe but the BEST robe; not merely the calf but the FATTED calf. And all this, good as it is, is not half good enough yet. The rich robe on his shoulders must be accompanied with glittering "rings on his fingers ;" and the fatted calf must be diluted with precious wine. And then music too must come-music with all her soul-enchanting strains, to proclaim the happy father's joy, that "his son, who was dead, is alive; he was lost, but is found." Now Christ holding out such love and forgiveness, what are we to think of those who can be so long "seeking peace and not finding it?" Is there not ground for suspicion that they are not honest, like the prodigal, to return home to their Leavenly Father, but must still stick to some of the.r "husks and swine" of sin, which God abhors. Their grum looks indeed, and godly groanings would pass them, already for saints; and the preacher often wonders why brother Longface "doesn't find peace. But put on your spectacles, thou purblind preacher, and try brother Longface's spirit, whether he has any marks of that "LOVE," which must always go before "peace and joy in the Holy Ghost." "Tis true "he disfigures his face and seems to men to fast ;" but

still see how he "grinds the face of the poor," and "devours widows' houses." He uses long prayers in his family; but see how harsh and unloving he is in his manners towards them. He will spruce up and go fifty miles to a "CONFERENCE;" to an "ASSOCIA TION;" to a "CONVENTION;" to a "PRESBYTERY ;" to hear great sermons and to take a sacrament. But, how far will he go out of his way to pay a just debt? He builds "Cathedrals for the Lord of Hosts ;" but oh! what wretched huts for his own servants! He“makes

feasts for the rich," but alas how are his poor negroes fed! His own sons and daughters wear "soft raiment as in kings' houses," but his slaves are in rags! And is it to be wondered at, that God, the FRIEND OF THE POOR, does not lift up the light of his countenance on such a hypocrite?

Happily for William Penn he had none of these hindrances in his way to religion and its comforts. Through the promised blessing on a pious mother's instructions he had been early brought to relish the pleasures of moral goodness. Soon therefore as that good spirit which spoke to Socrates, which spoke to Cornelius, and which speaks to all, whispered to William Penn, and said "this is the road; walk therein," he was ready to obey.

Fortunately recollecting, that while friend Loe was preaching, several of the youth of the college, his acquaintance, had appeared much affected, he went to their chambers, and after some search found out seven or eight; among whom was Robert, afterwards lord Spencer, and John Locke, the writer of the famous

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TREATISE ON THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING," and who, 'tis said, was in principle a FRIEND all his life. Drawn together by kindred sentiments, these favoured youth immediately formed themselves into a society, that by reading the scriptures, with free and mutual interchange of their feelings, and by prayer, they might preserve and improve their pious impressions. Find